


Heat Seeking

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anon Gift Exchange, Hot Tub Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:16:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: The heat is broken at six. Q is so cold that the only solution is to sneak into the agents' locker room and use the jacuzzi. except... well we can guess which agent always lingers long after hours. Naughty naughty. James finds Q naked and sipping tea and climbs right in. What could go wrong?
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 12
Kudos: 149
Collections: Mi6 Cafe Prompt Fills





	Heat Seeking

Heat Seeking

Q stared at his pale skinned hands. The fingerless gloves and the chemical hand warmers had been helping until about an hour ago. Now his fingers were clumsy with the chill and the multiple layers of clothing were doing very little to keep him warm. He blew on his hands and soldiered on, finishing the last few lines and sitting back in his chair. The room was silent except for the ever present electronic hum that permeated the branch. The lights were low, the glow from his monitor the brightest spot in the large room. The worst part was that the heating issue was a physical one and not subject to his technological intervention. The fact that he was sitting here freezing his assets off was entirely due to ancient ducts and decrepit heating units.

As the program was finishing up, he idly glanced through the camera feeds around the building. He followed a security guard making his rounds and scanned the entrances, watching as one of the entry guards received a presumed food delivery, returning to his desk to extract several cardboard containers from the bag. Q eyed his now cold tea mug and gave a disconsolate shiver. He turned back to the cameras and watched as a third guard entered the gym two floors above. The figure circled the space, passing the door to the physio room. Q halted the camera. There was a huge hot tub on the other side of that door. And the gym was on a separate heating system, one shared with the medical wing. There was heat there. And that wonderful hot tub. Q rubbed his hands together, finished his work and went to refill his mug. He was not going to have to go home chilled through. He was going to soak in the hot tub and put his clothes in the warmer the therapists kept for their hot packs. What a glorious idea. The building was essentially deserted and he wouldn't be bothered at this hour of the early morning. 

He took care to use his largest mug and brew the tea exactly for that size. Mug in hand, he headed for the lift and punched the button for the gym level, smiling blissfully as he took his first delightful sip. He left the gym lights low. He didn't need them on. The physio room door yielded to his code punched into the door and he sighed as the steel panel whooshed closed behind him. The pool was kept heated and the air was tropical with warmth and humidity, his glasses fogging as he surveyed the space. He placed the mug gently on the tiled edge of the tub and began to divest himself of the now unnecessary layers he had swathed himself in. He found the warmer unit and shoved the towels and hot packs inside around to make room and stacked his clothes in the space he had made. 

He padded naked to the tub edge and crouched down, seating himself and dipping his legs in first. The water was perfect, about the temperature he liked his bath at home, and he knew it was constantly filtered and purified. He stretched his legs and spread his toes, and finally slid down to sit on a ledge inside the tub. The height was perfect. Leaving his head and neck out of the water. He fumbled over the buttons set into the edge and tested the jets, frankly playing a bit to get them exactly right. His glasses were still a bit clouded but he could see well enough. He reached along the tile, raising his mug and taking an entirely satisfying drink. His muscles were relaxing in the heat and the pressure of the jets. He leaned his head back a bit and stared at the ceiling, contemplating nothing for a bit. He hated being cold and this was a hedonistic delight. Why should the agents be the only ones to have the pleasure of this delightful piece of equipment? Well, he supposed he knew the answer to that. The regular staff felt generally intimidated by the field agents, especially the 00's, and they were the ones most frequently in need of the restorative therapy provided by the heated water. Well, he would surely be able to make himself the exception. He had the run of the place in the middle of the night. He giggled at the idea of planting a small Q branch flag on the bottom of the pool. 

He was just taking another long swallow of his tea when the door eased open with a soft hiss and closed just as silently as a figure stepped in. Q stared, blinked and almost choked on the tea. “Hullo, Q,” Bond said, leaning casually against the wall next to the door. He was dressed in a charcoal grey turtleneck jumper and denim jeans in a blue so dark it looked black. “I was planning a bit of an early morning work out. Fancy finding you here.”

Q hated this feeling. He was transfixed by the sight of the man and felt like his vocabulary had deserted him. He was a man with a scientific mind and a responsible job, not a tongue tied teenager. But Bond, outside of immediate mission parameters, reduced him to babbling inanities and usually resulted in him retreating in embarrassment to his office, or on one memorable occasion, to the Q branch executive washroom. He wanted to retreat now but getting out of the hot tub was impossible. His clothes were no where in reach and the towels at the tub side were not adequate to cover much of anything. 

Bond took a step or two forward, smiling. “I may just join you. It is quite nippy out and a good long soak would be just the thing.” Suiting action to words, Bond proceeded to remove his clothes, kicking his low boots off first. Q was transfixed as acres of tanned skin began to appear. He was aware he was staring and couldn't seem to do anything about it. And something else was happening. Below the water line, his cock had apparently never heard that it wasn't supposed to become erect in very hot water. It was idiotically ignoring physiology. Q told himself it was the bubbles, or perhaps just that he had not had a date in so long his condom stash had bloody expired. It was not either of those things. It was the fact that James Bond was doing a casual striptease in front of him. And it was a tease. The man kept glancing at him, a raised eyebrow and that cheeky grin telling Q plainly that the man knew the effect he was having. And just where was Q supposed to look when that elegantly deadly body was on display. His mouth went dry as he caught sight of Bond's cock, uncut and definitely above average size. He quickly looked away as Bond stepped into the swirling water, lowering himself to sit on the ledge that circled the tub. He might now have a minor chance of quelling his arousal and just stay still until Bond decided he had soaked enough. And that's when fate intervened. The jets were on a timer and it was at that moment they shut off. The water stilled and cleared and there was Q, flushed and hard and trying very hard to convince himself that there was actually a way to teleport a human body so he could go someplace where he never had to see this man's face again, He closed his eyes and turned slightly sideways on the bench, trying to diminish his exposure, flinching when Bond chuckled.

Q found his voice and snapped, “You're well aware of the effect of what you were doing. There's no need to rub it in. I'll be leaving.” He shifted trying to find a way to get out of the tub that would allow him any dignity. He stilled when a broad hand stroked over his hip.

“I'd rather you stayed,” Bond coaxed in a low voice.

His wits now sharpened by anger at being humiliated, Q turned and glared. “Why? You've proved your charms work on me. I'll leave you to stroke your own ego.”

“I'd rather stroke you.” Bond suited action to word and ran a gentle hand down Q's back, trailing his fingers in slow patterns. “In case it's not clear, I want you. I'm reasonably sure the feeling is mutual.”

Q wanted to believe this, but he was still suspicious. “Why now? I mean it seems a bit abrupt.”

Bond had sidled nearer, movements gradual and cautious. “You fascinated me right from the beginning. I just never found a right time to say anything. Seems like every time I've been off mission in the past eight months, you've either been furious at me for losing tech or I've been in medical. Not really auspicious.”

Q faced him, trying to get a read on a man who lied for a living. Q had just wanted to get warm and now he was sitting naked, in a hot tub, at his place of employment, in the middle of the night, with a man who had killed and lied his way around the world for years. The whole situation was surreal. Would it really be any more bizarre to give in to what Bond wanted, especially when Q wanted it too? Before he could second guess himself, Q closed the small distance remaining. He brushed his lips over Bond's, tasting a hint of coffee, feeling the strong arms circle him at shoulder and hips. The next kiss was more clinging, languorous with flickers of tongue. Q dragged irritably at his glasses, the edge of the frame digging in and Bond eased back to pluck the glasses away and lay them on the edge of the tub surround, on top of the folded towels. Q dove immediately back for more kisses, throwing himself into the moment. 

The kisses grew heated and Q's arousal which had abated slightly now reasserted itself. He suddenly wanted whatever this was with a ferocity that surprised him. And Bond seemed inclined to demonstrate his mastery of foreplay. Those hands with a history etched in scars and whose knuckles must ache in the cold were delicate and exploratory, seeking out sensitive places on Q's skin and seeming to catalogue the pleasure points to return to over and over. All this accompanied by a banquet of kisses that had progressed to spit sloppy utterly wonderful tangling of tongues. 

Q's breath caught on a gasp of pleasure as Bond trailed that sinful mouth down, murmuring unintelligibly into the skin of Q's neck, and nipping at his throat. “Bond,” Q whispered, clutching at the heavy muscles under his hands.

“Try James,” Bond suggested. “ I think informality is called for.” The phrase was punctuated with small licks and nibbles, 

Q hissed at the sharp sensation as Bond gripped his waist and lifted him up, buoyed by the water, latching his mouth onto a nipple and sucking, the scrape of teeth as he released the flesh a new source of arousal. “James, please.” He almost didn't recognize his own voice, hoarse and needy.

“It's all right. I've got you.” James gave another lift and Q found himself sitting on a higher ledge, the water now just over his hips. James punched the buttons next to them and the jets purred to life again, one of them precisely positioned to send bubbling water directly past Q's balls. He tried to squirm away from the odd sensation but James had his thighs pinned and was wearing a satyr's leer. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and on the next inhale ducked his head and swallowed half of Q's cock, swirling his tongue around it and sucking. Caught between the jets and a man who apparently had grown gills, Q shook and felt his body tense, pressure building to an impossible level. Just when he thought he couldn't take more, James surfaced, took another breath and dove back down, this time taking Q's cock all the way down his throat. Q's shout echoed back from the tiled walls and his eyes rolled back as he came in sharp pulses.

Q felt boneless, sated and a bit disoriented. Sometime after his ears stopped ringing, he realized James had moved them back to the lower ledge, pulling Q onto his lap. Soft lazy kisses landed on his neck and the top of his head and there was a firm ridge under one of his hips, Bond was still hard and seemed utterly relaxed and unconcerned with doing much about it. Q wriggled a tiny bit.

“Shh,” the deep voice crooned in his ear, “nothing urgent.” Q turned a vaguely disgruntled look upward. James laughed and kissed his nose. “Your sense of equity outraged? It's not required that everything be reciprocated immediately. I'm quite happy where I am right now.” A little mollified, Q settled back, half dozing in the aftermath of an amazing orgasm and the drugging heat of the tub. James' heartbeat under his ear, the hum of the jets, and the faint splashing of the water melded into a sort of lullaby. He floated in a pleasant haze.

Some unmeasured time later James nudged him. “What?” Q responded, querulous and disinclined to move. 

“We should get out of the tub, Q. You're starting to prune.” James held up one of Q's hands, turning it to display the water wrinkled fingers.

Grumbling only slightly, Q hoisted himself up on the edge, grabbed his glasses and a towel and padded, dripping, to the warmer. He extracted his clothes, a bit creased but blissfully warm. He had dried off and was stepping into his pants when he became aware Bond was watching him, eyes bright and a puzzled but admiring look on his face. He chuckled a bit when he was caught out staring and nodded at the warmer. “ I knew you were smart but that was bloody brilliant. As long as I've been using this room, I'd never thought of that.”

Q shrugged and continued dressing, feeling a touch of nerves as he finished buttoning his shirt and pulled his jumper over his head. When his head poked through, James was standing directly in front of him, and took pains to straighten the shirt collar so it lay flat. “Sexy and smart. So, your opinion on where to adjourn to. I'd like to continue to explore both sides of you.”

Q felt a blush not due to the hot tub colour his face. “Um, my place? I'd like to stay this warm.”

James kissed him lightly. “Your heating is more efficient?”

Q shook his head. “It's abysmal. But I have a very nice heated mattress and a lovely fluffy duvet.”

James kissed him again. “Brilliant. I said so. Naked on a heated mattress sounds perfect.” He reached a set of keys out of his pocket. “And the heater in my car works very efficiently.”

Q hurried off to his office once James promised to have the car all warmed up by the time he got to the garage, leaving his mug sitting on the tub edge, to be picked up by a puzzled physiotherapist the following morning.


End file.
